Finding no one in the hall I went up at once to my own sitting-room, made a bed for the dog with one of my old shawls, and rang the bell.  The largest and fattest of all possible house-maids answered it, in a state of cheerful stupidity which would have provoked the patience of a saint.  The girl’s fat, shapeless face actually stretched into a broad grin at the sight of the wounded creature on the floor.

“What do you see there to laugh at?” I asked, as angrily as if she had been a servant of my own.  “Do you know whose dog it is?”

“No, miss, that I certainly don’t.”  She stooped, and looked down at the spaniel’s injured side—­brightened suddenly with the irradiation of a new idea—­and pointing to the wound with a chuckle of satisfaction, said, “That’s Baxter’s doings, that is.”

I was so exasperated that I could have boxed her ears.  “Baxter?” I said.  “Who is the brute you call Baxter?”

The girl grinned again more cheerfully than ever.  “Bless you, miss!  Baxter’s the keeper, and when he finds strange dogs hunting about, he takes and shoots ’em.  It’s keeper’s dooty miss, I think that dog will die.  Here’s where he’s been shot, ain’t it?  That’s Baxter’s doings, that is.  Baxter’s doings, miss, and Baxter’s dooty.”

I was almost wicked enough to wish that Baxter had shot the housemaid instead of the dog.  Seeing that it was quite useless to expect this densely impenetrable personage to give me any help in relieving the suffering creature at our feet, I told her to request the housekeeper’s attendance with my compliments.  She went out exactly as she had come in, grinning from ear to ear.  As the door closed on her she said to herself softly, “It’s Baxter’s doings and Baxter’s dooty—­that’s what it is.”

The housekeeper, a person of some education and intelligence, thoughtfully brought upstairs with her some milk and some warm water.  The instant she saw the dog on the floor she started and changed colour.

“Why, Lord bless me,” cried the housekeeper, “that must be Mrs. Catherick’s dog!”

“Whose?” I asked, in the utmost astonishment.

“Mrs. Catherick’s.  You seem to know Mrs. Catherick, Miss Halcombe?”

“Not personally, but I have heard of her.  Does she live here?  Has she had any news of her daughter?”

“No, Miss Halcombe, she came here to ask for news.”

“When?”

“Only yesterday.  She said some one had reported that a stranger answering to the description of her daughter had been seen in our neighbourhood.  No such report has reached us here, and no such report was known in the village, when I sent to make inquiries there on Mrs. Catherick’s account.  She certainly brought this poor little dog with her when she came, and I saw it trot out after her when she went away.  I suppose the creature strayed into the plantations, and got shot.  Where did you find it, Miss Halcombe?”